Girl's Best Friend

by Leslie Margolis

  “Beckett, please.” His mom dropped to her knees, placed her hands on his shoulders, and looked into his eyes. “That’s not Cookie, honey.”

  “Yes, Cookie.” He screwed up his mouth and stomped his foot. The heel of his silver high-top flashed red. Light-up shoes—Finn and I used to have them. I didn’t realize they were still in style.

  His mom cringed and looked up at me. “He thinks that’s our old dog,” she explained, and then turned back to her son. “Cookie went bye-bye to the farm. Remember?”

  “Bye-bye, Cookie.” The kid opened and closed his hand in front of Bean’s face—some approximation of a wave. “Why you leave me? Because of the gum?”

  “We’ve been over this, honey. Cookie forgives you for putting all that gum in her fur, but she still had to go to the farm,” his mom said.

  The kid looked from his mom to Bean. “Farm?” he asked.

  She winked at me. “Yes, Cookie went to the farm.”

  According to my parents, Finn and I’ve had six goldfish that have also gone to the farm. Wonder if it’s the same one …

  At least Beckett seemed convinced—for the moment. His mom stood, took his hand, and led him away.

  But before I could walk much farther, Beckett broke free, raced back, and got right in Bean’s face. “Come back,” he said. “I won’t pull your tail no more. Or eat your food.”

  Bean snapped, barely missing Beckett’s cheek and coming close enough to make him scream.

  Beckett’s mom scooped him up in her arms—much to Beckett’s chagrin. “No more throw you in toilet!” Beckett shouted over her shoulder.

  “Sorry to bother you,” his mom said as she struggled to contain her flailing kid. “She really does look a lot like Cookie, though. It’s been weeks since she, well, went to the farm, but Beckett still talks about her.”

  “That’s so sad. Was there an, um, accident?” I asked, shuddering at the thought.

  Beckett’s mom sighed. “No, she had a rare heart defect. We tried surgery but it was too late.”

  “Surgery,” Beckett repeated.

  “Yes, honey. Remember? Poor Cookie had surgery, and instead of coming home she decided to go to the farm.”

  “Horsies there, too?” asked Beckett.

  “Yes, probably,” said his mom.

  “And sheep?”

  “Yup.” She nodded.

  “Let’s visit,” said Beckett.

  “Oh dear.” His mom cringed and furrowed her brow. “No, we can’t. It’s too far. But I’ll take you to the zoo later, okay? Now say bye-bye.”

  “Bye-bye, Cookie!” said Beckett. And he kept saying it, even after he and his mom turned the corner.

  Sad, but at the same time, almost funny, too. At least that’s what I’d thought at the time. Turns out I never should’ve laughed.

  Beckett knew exactly what he was talking about.

  Chapter 5

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Nice salad,” Finn mumbled at dinner that night as he stabbed a grape tomato with his fork.

  “Thank you.” I smiled sweetly, ignoring the sarcasm.

  He scoffed, but I knew he’d never give me up. Not to our parents.

  “How was the math quiz?” Dad asked.

  “Math-y,” I replied.

  “Numbers all over the place,” Finn agreed.

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I wanted to know,” Dad replied.

  “How’d your meeting go?” Mom asked him.

  “You know. Lots of talk.” Dad shrugged. Then when no one reacted he said, “Actually, I got the job.”

  “That’s great,” I said. And I meant it. With Dad working again, I wouldn’t have to worry about avoiding him during my dog-walking hours.

  “It is.” Dad’s whole face brightened. “The project is interesting, too. I’ll be producing a documentary about the Brooklyn Dodgers.”

  “That sounds fun. Congratulations!” Mom raised her glass of lemon-lime seltzer and we all clinked glasses.

  Then she turned to me and Finn. “I still need to call the Cake Man for Saturday. Are we going with the usual?”

  “Yup,” I said. Finn nodded.

  We were turning twelve that weekend and we always have a joint birthday party with a cake that’s half vanilla for Finn and half chocolate for me. Raspberry filling because neither of us cares much about it, equally.

  “And it’s eight people?” she asked.

  “Um, ten, actually,” said Finn.

  “Who else did you invite?” I asked.

  Finn didn’t reply. In fact, he didn’t even look at me. That’s how I knew I wasn’t going to like his answer. Not when we were supposed to have three friends each, and Finn had nearly doubled his list without even asking me. Not only would my friends be totally outnumbered, I seriously doubted Finn had invited anyone cool. He’d probably asked a couple guys from GameStop—the video-game store where Finn always spends his allowance. Unless he’d invited some of the geeks from Galaxy Comics. I couldn’t decide which would be worse.

  “Finn?”

  He stared at his empty salad plate, too silent.

  “Not Brady,” I said. Brady is into comic books and video games but his real claim to fame is being able to swear in twelve languages. It’s funny the first time you hear it. But he’s been demonstrating his skills at least twice a day since school started three weeks ago. And it gets old—fast.

  “It’s not Brady,” said Finn.

  “Phew.” I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “It’s Eve, Katie, and Ivy.” He mumbled it so I barely heard.

  “Ha. Very funny.”

  Finn didn’t laugh. No one did.

  I glared at him from across the table. “You are kidding.”

  He shook his head ever so slightly.

  “Finn!”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  “It’s a huge deal!” I looked to my parents. “This can’t happen. You can’t let him do this.”

  “It’s not just your party,” Finn reminded me. Which was so unnecessary, because obviously if it were just my party there wouldn’t be any vanilla in the cake.

  Not that I could even bring myself to care about that at the moment. “But you’re not even friends with them!”

  “No yelling at the table,” Dad said.

  “I’m not yelling!” I yelled. Then hearing myself, I swallowed hard and tried—unsuccessfully—to relax. Problem was, my whole throat felt tight and tears pricked the corners of my eyes. And now I was embarrassed, because I didn’t want to totally lose it in front of my family. Not over Ivy.

  I looked from my mom to my dad. “You can’t let him ruin my birthday.”

  “This is between you two,” said Dad.

  I turned to Finn, half wishing I could crawl across the table, grab him by the shoulders, and shake some sense into him. But I knew better. I could hand Finn a clue on a silver platter and he wouldn’t know what to do with it. “How did this happen?” I asked.

  Finn shrugged. “Dante was supposed to come but his parents are making him go look at leaves in Vermont instead. So that meant I could have one more person and Otto likes Eve and he asked me to invite her so I did. And she said, ‘Can I bring Ivy and Katie?’ and I said, ‘Sure.’ ”

  He spoke so quickly I knew he felt guilty. “You said, ‘Sure,’ ” I repeated.

  “She put me on the spot,” said Finn. Then he turned to our parents. “I know we were supposed to keep the guest list small and I tried—I really did—but it was impossible to say no. So if you want to ground me or something, go ahead.”

  Finn hung his head in pretend shame, and I couldn’t believe my parents bought his story. But they did.

  “Of course we’re not going to ground you,” said Dad, clapping Finn on the back all buddy-buddy. “It sounds like Eve didn’t give you any real choice, so don’t worry about it. The more the merrier.”

  Finn’s display was so pathetic I couldn’t help but yell, “Unbelievable!”

  Sighing, Mom turned to me
. “I know it’s not easy, Maggie, but try to be the bigger person.”

  Whatever that meant.

  “Let’s have separate parties,” I said. “Finn can have Saturday and I’ll ask my friends to come on Sunday instead.”

  “But the party’s only two days away,” said Mom.

  “My friends won’t care.”

  “Maggie,” said Dad, “two parties isn’t going to happen. Maybe next year, but for now, no.” The finality in his tone told me to drop it. And that’s when I figured out the real issue: money. As in, a lack of it. My parents couldn’t afford two parties. Normally, no biggie. Finn’s friends are cool (for the most part) and I’m used to sharing. But with Ivy? There’s no way.

  “I’ll pay for it,” I said without thinking.

  “It’s not about the money,” said Mom.

  “And it’s not like you could pay anyway,” said Finn, giving me a meaningful look from across the table.

  He had a point. My small allowance was enough for an after-school slice of pizza or ice-cream cone (without sprinkles). A movie on a Saturday night if I saved up. It’s not like I could tell our parents about my dog-walking money.

  But still, I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit around and smile and make small talk as if Saturday wasn’t going to be the worst day of my life. “Okay, fine, but can I go to Lucy’s?” I asked.

  “It’s a school night,” said Mom.

  “I’ll be home in an hour.” I stood up and cleared my plate, thinking that if I pretended they’d already said yes, they’d think they had. And it worked.

  “You hardly ate anything,” said Dad as I made my way out.

  “Yeah, Finn kinda made me lose my appetite.”

  Not exactly the truth, but enough to get me out of there.

  Chapter 6

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  I could smell the sautéed onions even before Lucy opened her front door. And once she did, the scent made my mouth water.

  “Hungry?” she asked.

  My new favorite question. “Starving,” I replied and followed her to the kitchen.

  The best thing about being friends with Lucy—besides the fact that she’s super sweet and hilarious and would never ditch me for someone (supposedly) cooler—is the fact that her parents own a small chain of restaurants: two in Brooklyn and one over the bridge in Alphabet City. They’re always experimenting with new recipes and looking for taste testers. Their food is Vietnamese-Peruvian fusion, just like Lucy.

  And after my disastrous day with the dogs and Finn’s news about the dreaded Ivy, which only ruined my appetite briefly, I really needed a snack.

  “Maggie, you’re just in time,” said Lucy’s dad, Chuck, as he spooned something from his frying pan onto a pale green lettuce leaf. “This is pork belly with scallions—my great grandmother’s recipe. It’s a little spicy, but you don’t mind spicy, do you?”

  “Nope. Not at all.”

  Lucy scrunched up her nose as I reached for the plate. She refuses to eat anything that’s not grilled cheese or spaghetti with red sauce. Something her parents would be more upset about, probably, except that until recently she’d only taken her pasta with butter.

  “Mmm.” I chewed and swallowed. “So good.”

  “But is it better than the ginger duck wrapped in cilantro-infused rice paper?” asked her mom, Vanessa.

  “Hello?” Lucy interrupted. “Are you done using my friend as a guinea pig?”

  “Unless you want me to sample some dessert.” I looked around the kitchen. “Because I’m all for that.”

  “Try us next week,” said Vanessa. “We need to iron out the entrées first.”

  “You girls are dismissed,” Chuck joked, like it was time for recess.

  “Finally.” Lucy grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the staircase.

  Lucy lives six houses down from me in an identical brownstone, but her family has four whole floors, not just one. We have the same bedroom, too, except Lucy’s seems gigantic because she has it all to herself. I share mine with Finn, which is not as weird as it sounds. A huge bookshelf splits our room right down the middle and offers plenty of privacy. There’s a big bay window that looks out onto Garfield Place, and we each have half a view.

  “So, you and Milo. Tell me everything,” Lucy said once we were in her room and out of earshot.

  I stifled a groan. With everything else going on, I’d completely forgotten about the Milo mess.

  “Let’s just say that I’ve secured my place in the Pizza Den Hall of Shame.”

  Lucy’s eyes got wide. “You didn’t pull an Amber Greyson, did you?”

  “It wasn’t that bad,” I said. (Amber puked up something purple there last spring.)

  “And you stayed away from the chili peppers?”

  “Come on, Lucy. Give me a little credit.” I flopped down into her blue beanbag chair.

  She sat in the green one across from me. “Well, you’re being so mysterious. What am I supposed to think?”

  “I don’t know—maybe that I’d never try to impress Milo by sticking hot peppers up my nose. Especially since Paul Livingston ended up in the emergency room for that just two weeks ago.”

  Lucy shuddered. “I heard he still gets teary-eyed whenever he sneezes.”

  I blinked. “I get teary-eyed just thinking about it.”

  “So what happened?” asked Lucy. “I’ve been sending you good vibes all afternoon. I couldn’t even focus on my violin lesson. Mrs. Tamagachi was all, ‘Lucy, if you don’t pay attention, you’ll never make it to first chair.’ As if I care!”

  I stood up and walked over to Lucy’s owl collection—so big it takes up an entire wall-size bookcase. She’s got owl everything: mugs, pencils, stuffed animals, pillows, ceramic figurines—both life-size and miniature and one with real feathers. I picked up an owl egg timer. “Is this new?” I asked. “It’s cute.”

  Lucy stared at me. “Why are you stalling?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Maggie!”

  I put away the egg timer and sat down on her futon couch. “Nothing to tell. Everything’s a mess and I’m super embarrassed and the Pizza Den was just the beginning.”

  I told Lucy the whole story: Milo and his iPod, the Ivy intrusion, the car wreck, getting chewed out by some stranger who thought I was bad for her business. And how my birthday party had been sabotaged. “Ivy’s like this giant stink bomb that’s gonna poison the whole scene.”

  “She is awful,” said Lucy. “What was Finn thinking?”

  “He wasn’t,” I said.

  “You don’t think he likes her, do you?”

  “My brother can be pretty clueless sometimes, but he’s not stupid. Otto likes Eve, apparently. He asked Finn to invite her, and you know how the three of them can’t do anything unless they’re all together. Like they share a brain.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m serious. Eve and Katie can’t even buy a pack of gum without clearing it with Ivy first. I mean, if you’re—”

  “I get it,” Lucy interrupted. She twisted her wavy black hair into a messy bun. “So what are you going to do about Milo?”

  “Nothing.”

  “But you’ve been crushing on him since forever.”

  “Not forever,” I said.

  “Fine. Since you saw him leaning against his locker that first day he transferred, but that was months ago. When we were sixth graders. And what did you say the other day? About how you were sick of watching stuff happen to other people? How you wanted something to happen to you?”

  “Public humiliation isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

  “Well, what about our promise?”

  This past summer, we’d vowed to do everything possible to get boyfriends this year. (Way embarrassing but true.) So far, Lucy couldn’t figure out who to like, but she promised that once she did, she’d make her move. And as for me? Well, obviously I needed a new tactic.

  “What time is it?” I glanced up at her wall clock, a pink owl with eyes
that moved from side to side with each passing second. Lucy calls her Ms. Owlet Supreme. I’m not sure why, but her wings told me I was ten minutes late. “I’ve gotta go.”

  “Or do you just not want to answer me?” asked Lucy.

  “I can’t deny that.” I stood up. “But I do need to get home. You know what they say—time flies when you’re avoiding your brother.”

  Lucy tilted her head to one side and flashed me a skeptical glance. “Who says that?”

  “I do.”

  As I headed for the door, Lucy called, “Wait, before you leave, tell me what you think of this.” She pulled something green and white and lumpy out of her knitting bag. “Do you think Finn will like it?”

  “Depends. What is it?”

  Lucy folded it carefully in her lap. “Half a scarf. The rest will be done by the weekend, probably. Depending on whether or not I go back and fix the crooked stitches in the middle. He probably wouldn’t even notice, right? Or if he did, maybe he’d think it’s part of the design?”

  “Finn’s not so into shopping for clothes,” I said. “Accessories, especially. And I don’t think he even knows about Etsy. I know you’ve been trying to expand your customer base, but I don’t think this is the way to—”

  Lucy cut me off. “I’m not trying to sell it. I just thought I’d give it to him.”

  “Oh. Why?”

  “For his birthday,” said Lucy.

  “No one’s supposed to bring us gifts, remember? My parents’ idea, obviously. It’s like my whole family is conspiring to make my birthday stink.”

  “It won’t be that bad. And I wasn’t going to bring it to the party. I’ll give it to him some other time. Since I made one for you. It seemed like … I don’t know.” Lucy didn’t finish her thought. I couldn’t believe she was pulling this.

  There’s nothing more annoying than people who think Finn and I should wear matching, or even coordinating, outfits. And Lucy should know better. “We are not going to wear twin scarves.”

  “This is completely different.” Lucy seemed insulted. “Yours is turquoise and purple striped.”

  “Yeah—the key word is ‘striped.’ ”